The Winds of Marble Arch and Other Stories (32 page)

“People returning overdue library books,” I said.

“Are we willing to be responsible for ruining all that? I think we should think about this before we do anything.”

I pulled my arm away from him.

“I just think we should consider
all the factors before we decide what to do. Waiting a few days can’t hurt.”

“You’re right,” I said, and started
walking. “There’s a lot we don’t know about them.”

“I just think we should do a little more research,” he said, opening the door of our building.

“You’re right,” I said, and started up the stairs.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow; okay?” he said when we got to second.

I nodded and went back to my desk and put my head in my hands.

He was willing to let parasites take over the planet so he could
get his ex-wife back, but were my motives any better than his? Why had I believed in an alien invasion in the first place and spent all that time watching science-fiction movies and having huddled conversations? So I could spend time with him.

He was right. A few aches and pains were worth it to have Sueann married to someone nice and postal workers nondisgruntled and passengers remaining seated
till those people with connecting flights had deplaned.

“Are you okay?” Tonya said, leaning over my desk.

“I’m fine,” I said. “How’s your arm?”

“Fine,” she said, rotating the elbow to show me. “It must have been a cramp or something.”

I didn’t
know
these parasites were like mistletoe. They might cause only temporary aches and pains. Gary was right. We needed to do more research. Waiting a
few days couldn’t hurt.

The phone rang. “I’ve been trying to get hold of you,” Mom said. “Dakota’s in the hospital. They don’t know what it is. It’s something wrong with her legs. You need to call Allison.”

“I will,” I said, and hung up the phone.

I logged on to my computer, called up the file I’d been working on and scrolled halfway through it so it would look like I was away from my desk
for just a minute, took off my high heels and changed into my sneakers, stuck the high heels into my desk drawer, grabbed my purse and coat, and took off.

The best place to look for information on how to get rid of the parasites was the library, but the card file was on-line, and you had to use your library card to get access. The next best was a bookstore. Not the independent on Sixteenth. Their
clerks were far too helpful. And knowledgeable.

I went to the Barnes & Noble on Eighth, taking the back way (but no alleys). It was jammed, and there was some kind of book signing going on up front, but nobody paid any attention to me. Even so, I didn’t go straight to the gardening section. I wandered casually through the aisles, looking at T-shirts and mugs and stopping to thumb through a copy
of
How Irrational Fears Can Ruin Your Life
, gradually working my way back to the gardening section.

They had only two books
on parasites:
Common Garden Parasites and Diseases
and
Organic Weed and Pest Control.
I grabbed them both, retreated to the literature section, and began to read.

“Fungicides such as Benomyl and Ferbam are effective against certain rusts,”
Common Garden Parasites
said.
“Streptomycin is effective against some viruses.”

But which was this, if either? “Spraying with Diazinon or Malathion can be effective in most cases. Note: These are dangerous chemicals. Avoid all contact with skin. Do not breathe fumes.”

That was out. I put down
Common Garden Parasites
and picked up
Organic Weed and Pest Control.
At least it didn’t recommend spraying with deadly chemicals,
but what it did recommend wasn’t much more useful. Prune affected limbs. Remove and destroy berries. Cover branches with black plastic.

Too often it said simply: Destroy all infected plants.

“The main difficulty in the case of parasites is to destroy the parasite without also destroying the host.” That sounded more like it. “It is therefore necessary to find a substance that the host can tolerate
that is intolerable to the parasite. Some rusts, for instance, cannot tolerate a vinegar and ginger solution, which can be sprayed on the leaves of the host plant. Red mites, which infest honeybees, are allergic to peppermint. Frosting made with oil of peppermint can be fed to the bees. As it permeates the bees’ systems, the red mites drop off harmlessly. Other parasites respond variously to
spearmint, citrus oil, oil of garlic, and powdered aloe vera.”

But which? And how could I find out? Wear a garlic necklace? Stick an orange under Tonya’s nose? There was no way to find out without their figuring out what I was doing.

I kept reading. “Some parasites can be destroyed by rendering the environment unfavorable. For moisture-dependent rusts, draining the soil can be beneficial. For
temperature-susceptible pests, freezing and/or use of smudge pots can kill the invader. For light-sensitive parasites, exposure to light can kill the parasite.”

Temperature-sensitive. I
thought about the hats. Were they to hide the parasites or to protect them from the cold? No, that couldn’t be it. The temperature in the building had been turned down to freezing for two weeks, and if they needed
heat, why hadn’t they landed in Florida?

I thought about Jackie Peterson’s newsletter. She hadn’t been affected. And neither had Uncle Marty, whose newsletter had come this morning. Or, rather, Uncle Marty’s dog, who ostensibly dictated them. “Woof, woof!” the newsletter had read. “I’m lying here under a Christmas saguaro out on the desert, chewing on a bone and hoping Santa brings me a nice
new flea collar.”

So they hadn’t landed in Arizona or Miami, and none of the newspaper articles Gary had circled had been from Mexico or California. They had all been datelined Minnesota and Michigan and Illinois. Places where it was cold. Cold and cloudy, I thought, thinking of Cousin Celia’s Christmas newsletters. Cold and cloudy.

I flipped back through the pages, looking for the reference
to light-sensitive parasites.

“It’s right back here,” a voice said.

I shut the book, jammed it in among Shakespeare’s plays, and snatched up a copy of
Hamlet.

“It’s for my daughter,” the customer, who was, thankfully, hatless, said, appearing at the end of the aisle. “That’s what she said she wanted for Christmas when I called her. I was so surprised. She hardly ever reads.”

The clerk was
right behind her, wearing a mobcap with red and green ribbons. “Everybody’s reading Shakespeare right now,” she said, smiling. “We can hardly keep it on the shelves.”

I ducked my head and pretended to read
the, Hamlet
. “O villain, villain, smiling, damned villain!” Hamlet said. “I set it down, that one may smile, and smile, and be a villain.”

The clerk started along the shelves, looking for
the book. “
King Lear, King
Lear…let’s see.”

“Here it is,” I said, handing it to her before she reached
Common Garden Parasites.

“Thank you,” she said, smiling. She handed it to the customer. “Have you been to our book signing yet? Darla Sheridan, the fashion designer, is in the store today, signing her new book,
In Your Easter Bonnet.
Hats are coming back, you know.”

“Really?” the customer
said.

“She’s giving away a free hat with every
copy of the book,” the clerk said.

“Really?”
the customer said. “Where, did you say?”

“I’ll show you,” the clerk said, still smiling, and led the customer away like a lamb to the slaughter.

As soon as they were gone, I pulled out
Organic Gardening
and looked up “light-sensitive” in the index.
Page 264
. “Pruning branches above the infection and
cutting away surrounding leaves to expose the source to sunlight or artificial light will usually kill light-sensitive parasites.”

I closed the book and hid it behind the Shakespeare plays, laying it on its side so it wouldn’t show, and pulled out
Common Garden Pests.

“Hi,” Gary said, and I nearly dropped the book. “What are you doing here?”

“What are
you
doing here?” I said, cautiously closing
the book.

He was looking at the title. I stuck it on the shelf between
Othello
and
The Riddle of Shakespeare’s Identity.

“I realized you were right.” He looked cautiously around. “We’ve got to destroy them.”

“I thought you said they were symbiotes, that they were beneficial,” I said, watching him warily.

“You think I’ve been taken over by the aliens, don’t you?” he said. He ran his hand through
his hair. “See? No hat, no toupee.”

But in
The Puppet Masters
the parasites had been able to attach themselves anywhere along the spine.

“I thought you said the benefits outweighed a few aches and pains,” I said.

“I wanted to believe that,” he said ruefully. “I guess what I really wanted to believe was that my ex-wife and I would get back together.”

“What changed your mind?” I said, trying
not to look at the bookshelf.

“You did,” he said. “I realized somewhere along the way what a dope I’d been, mooning over her when you were right there in front of me. I was standing there, listening to her talk about how great it was going to be to get back together, and all of a sudden I realized that I didn’t want to, that I’d found somebody nicer, prettier, someone I could trust. And that
someone was you, Nan.” He smiled at me. “So what have you found out? Something we can use to destroy them?”

I took a long, deep breath, and looked at him, deciding.

“Yes,” I said, and pulled out
the book. I handed it to him. “The section on bees. It says in here that introducing allergens into the bloodstream of the host can kill the parasite.”

“Like in
Infiltrators from Space.”

“Yes.” I told
him about the red mites and the honeybees. “Oil of wintergreen, citrus oil, garlic, and powdered aloe vera are all used on various pests. So if we can introduce peppermint into the food of the affected people, it—”

“Peppermint?” he said blankly.

“Yes. Remember how Penny said nobody ate any of the candy canes she put out? I think it’s because they’re allergic to peppermint,” I said, watching
him.

“Peppermint,” he said thoughtfully “They didn’t eat any of the ribbon candy Jan Gundell had on her desk either. I think you’ve hit it. So how are you going to get them to ingest it? Put it in the water cooler?”

“No,” I said. “In cookies. Chocolate chip cookies. Everybody loves chocolate.” I pushed the books into place on the shelf and started for the front. “It’s my turn to bring Holiday
Goodies tomorrow. I’ll go to the grocery store and get the cookie ingredients—”

“I’ll go with you,” he said.

“No,” I said. “I need you to buy the oil of peppermint. They should have it at a drugstore or a health food store. Buy the most concentrated form you can get, and make sure you buy it from somebody who hasn’t been taken over. I’ll meet you back at my apartment, and we’ll make the cookies
there.”

“Great,” he said.

“We’d better leave separately,” I said. I handed him the
Othello.
“Here. Go buy this. It’ll give you a bag to carry the oil of peppermint in.”

He nodded and started for the checkout line. I walked out of Barnes & Noble, went down Eighth to the grocery store, ducked out the side door, and went back to the office. I stopped at my desk for a metal ruler, and ran up to
fifth. Jim Bridgeman, in his backward baseball cap, glanced up at me and then back down at his keyboard.

I went over to the thermostat.

And this was the moment when everyone surrounded you, pointing and squawking an unearthly screech at you. Or turned and stared at you with their glowing green eyes. I twisted the thermostat dial as far up as it would go, to ninety-five.

Nothing happened.

Nobody even looked up
from their computers. Jim Bridgeman was typing intently.

I pried the dial and casing off with the metal ruler and stuck them into my coat pocket, bent the metal nub back so it couldn’t be moved, and walked back out to the stairwell.

And now, please let it warm up fast enough to work before everybody goes home, I thought, clattering down the stairs to fourth. Let everybody
start sweating and take off their hats. Let the aliens be light-sensitive. Let them not be telepathic.

I jammed the thermostats on fourth and third, and clattered down to second. Our thermostat was on the far side, next to Hunziger’s office. I grabbed up a stack of memos from my desk, walked purposefully across the floor, dismantled the thermostat, and started back toward the stairs.

“Where
do you think you’re going?” Solveig said, planting herself firmly in front of me.

“To a meeting,” I said, trying not to look as lame and frightened as the hero’s girlfriend in the movies always did. She looked down at my sneakers. “Across town.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” she said.

“Why not?” I said weakly.

“Because I’ve got to show you what I bought Jane for Christmas.”

She reached for a shopping bag under her desk. “I know I’m not due till May, but I couldn’t resist this,” she said, rummaging in the bag. “It is so cute!”

She pulled out a tiny pink bonnet with white daisies on it. “Isn’t it adorable?” she said. “It’s newborn size. She can wear it home from the hospital. Oh, and I got her the cutest—”

“I lied,” I said, and Solveig looked up alertly. “Don’t tell
anybody, but I completely forgot to buy a Secret Santa gift. Penny’ll kill me if she finds out. If anybody asks where I’ve gone, tell them the ladies’ room,” I said, and took off down to first.

The thermostat was right by the door. I disabled it and the one in the basement, got my car (looking in the backseat first, unlike the people in the movies) and drove to the courthouse and the hospital
and McDonald’s, and then called my mother and invited myself to dinner. “I’ll bring dessert,” I said, drove out to the mall, and hit the bakery, the Gap, the video-rental place, and the theater multiplex on the way.